


Mistakes We Knew We Were Making

by oh_the_irohny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Almost a crackfic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brothers, Comedy, Friendship, Gen, Good Regulus Black, Horcruxes, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Fest 2020, Moral Ambiguity, Morally Ambiguous Character, Not Canon Compliant, Polyjuice Potion, Regulus Black Lives, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29292819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_the_irohny/pseuds/oh_the_irohny
Summary: In a strange twist of fate, Sirius manages to get to Regulus before he's able to sacrifice himself to switch out the horcrux in the cave. Now Sirius must go undercover as a Death Eater to find out more information about the horcruxes. Meanwhile, Regulus finds his Pureblood upbringing insufficient for performing muggle chores, James finds himself mistrusting of the former Death Eater, and Lily finds herself caught in the middle of an odd rivalry.
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Regulus Black & James Potter, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black & James Potter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44
Collections: Marauders Fest 2020





	Mistakes We Knew We Were Making

**Author's Note:**

> {Prompt: [canon divergence] Sirius saves Regulus from the cave; Sirius must now go undercover among the Death Eaters while Regulus is put into hiding with James and Lily, while not having a clue how even the most basic household chores work.}
> 
> i hyperfocused on this for like 10 hours straight, accidentally pulled an all-nighter, and managed to make it wayyy bigger than it needed to be... oops. please enjoy the fruits of my labor!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: i tried to keep it light(ish), but there are mentions of death (as in, the fact that regulus would die if he went through with the horcrux thing as he did in canon, and sirius is afraid that he did). also regulus is, as always, super angsty.
> 
> rated T for language.

Prologue

A mere blink separated Regulus’s childhood home from his soon-to-be tomb. Just one last glance at Number 12 Grimmauld Place before the camera lens clicked shut and when it opened again, he was standing in the cave that he knew to be the hiding place of the Dark Lord’s horcrux.

That was how life often went, he supposed — scenes of a play, divided by hours in real time, but only a page turn in the script. One minute he was staring bleakly at the same walls he had seen a thousand times, and the next, they were instantly replaced by cold, craggy rock and then… well, that was it. He barely even had time to process the difference — the intense, constricting nature of Apparation made it rather difficult for a person to keep his eyes open the whole time.

Regulus straightened his shoulders — it would not do for a Black to die hunched over like a peasant. Then he turned to the house elf waiting faithfully beside him.

“This is it, Kreacher.” He tilted his chin upwards, casting his gaze to the murky ceiling. “The end.”

Kreacher’s eyebrows knit together nervously. “Master—”

Regulus stopped him with a raised palm. “Let me.”

Kreacher paused, unsure, then nodded. Regulus, intending to make his last moments count, opted for a dramatic pause to gather his thoughts before he spoke again.

“I’ve wanted to make something of myself for the longest time, Kreacher,” he said. “And for the longest time, I thought that ‘something’ would be in service to my family. Some way of creating a legacy that would bring honor to the Black name for generations to come.

“When Si—” He caught himself, took a shaky breath, restarted. “When it fell to me to assume the duties and responsibilities of the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, my future took on a solid shape before my eyes: I would graduate Hogwarts, marry that Avery girl Mother always liked, have a few children, and then they would carry on the cycle.” Unconsciously, his hand drifted to his pocket to trace the outline of the replacement locket. “I never thought it would end here.”

“Oh, Master Regulus,” Kreacher croaked, looking on the verge of tears. “Mistress Walburga would be proud of you, so very proud, Kreacher is sure—”

“Yes, yes, I’m glad you think so.” Regulus waved a hand impatiently. “But we haven’t got all day.”

Kreacher bowed his head repentantly. “Of course, Master.”

Regulus nodded, then continued. “I do not entertain the delusion known as hope. I know that these will be my last words, so I’ll make them good.” He met Kreacher’s watery gaze and held it. “Kreacher, as my final statement, I want you to know—”

Suddenly, Kreacher made a strange face. Regulus stopped. 

“What?” he demanded, somewhat annoyed at being interrupted again.

“Sorry, Master, so sorry, many apologies—” Kreacher’s words were rushed and he looked supremely ticked off — an emotion Regulus had never before seen him display.

“For the love of Merlin, what _is_ it?” Regulus asked shortly, his irritation growing. “Can’t you wait until _after_ I’m finished?”

“Many more apologies, Master Regulus, but Kreacher must go!” yelled Kreacher. And with that, the house elf performed what could only be described as the most overtly furious Disapparation known to wizardkind, leaving Regulus alone in the cave, wondering what the hell just happened.

He passed a few awkward minutes pacing circles around the horcrux basin, stewing in his confusion and anger, before he heard the familiar _crack!_ behind him.

“Tell me, Kreacher,” said Regulus, slowly turning to face his oddly dysfunctional house elf, “what in the name of Merlin almighty possessed you to—”

Then he stopped cold. Kreacher hadn’t returned alone. And he had chosen the absolute _worst_ plus-one possible.

“What — what are _you_ doing… doing _here,_ how — why—,” Regulus heard himself stammer humiliatingly.

“Sorry to interrupt your deathday, mate,” said Sirius in a faux-cheery voice that came nowhere near matching his steely eyes. “But you and I need to have a bit of a chat.”

I.

It had never surprised Sirius how easy it was to leave the house in which he had spent the first sixteen years of his life, not with how many hours he had spent daydreaming about walking away for good. It had, however, mildly surprised him how easy it was to stay away. Shouldn’t he have felt remorse at some point? Where was the tiny seed of regret that generally tainted even the most rewarding of his impulsive decisions?

(There was, of course regret, but, well… it was bigger than a seed. And it was more important than his usual vague, back-of-the-mind, easily ignorable “oops, I may have fucked up a little”. And he tried his best to not think about it. He had done all he could, but that stupid idiot had made his choice…)

Getting in was easy, even after three years; they had never changed the security spells, and despite Walburga’s opinions, Sirius was still very much a Black. But simply _being_ in still knocked the breath out of him, somehow.

Leaving was nothing. Staying that way was… difficult… some nights. Getting in was a snap. But just existing in the space he’d thought he’d never have to see again? It was the bars of a cage he thought he’d escaped years ago fading back into his periphery, ready to close in on him.

_In and out,_ he thought, remembering the mission briefing. _Don_ _’t linger; you have no idea when they’ll be back. Just get the diary and get the hell out._

“Alright, mate?” James whispered.

Oh, that’s right, James was here too. How could he have forgotten?

(He wasn’t alone. He _wasn_ _’t.)_

“Ah — yeah. Sorry.” Sirius tried for a light laugh, running his fingers through his hair in what he hoped was a casual enough manner. “Just a bit… preoccupied, I s’pose.”

James frowned, concern growing on his thin features. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? We can—”

“It’s fine,” said Sirius quickly. “Let’s just go — in and out, right?”

James looked at him in a knowing way that made Sirius feel simultaneously comforted and uneasy.

“Right,” he said finally.

“Follow me, then.” Sirius nodded his head towards the stairs, pausing just long enough to make sure James was following before creeping upwards.

Three flights later, Sirius found himself standing in the hauntingly familiar hallway that he thought he’d never see again. It was exactly the same as he had left it — his door on the left, Reg’s on the right, still adorned with that stupid little sign he had put up when he was thirteen.

“’Do not enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black’,” James read jokingly. “Fuck, guess we better turn around, then!”

Sirius managed a weak smile. “Come on, you wanker. Unless you’ve suddenly developed a fear of breaking the rules?”

James scoffed. “Don’t you know me at all?” He gallantly stepped forward, turned the knob, and strode inside. Sirius followed, somewhat more hesitantly.

Walking into the room felt like peeling back the years in just a single step. It had barely changed since the last time Sirius was in it — the Black family crest was still painted perfectly on the wall; the silk bedspread was still tucked, military-precise, into the frame; the bookshelf was still meticulously orderly. It looked much more like a museum than the living quarters of a teenage boy. In fact, if not for the wall of Voldemort propaganda — Sirius scowled at it, a bitter taste entering his mouth — it was hardly believable that any living being had ever entered this room, much less lived in it all his life.

(This was not the time for pondering the true meaning of the word ‘living’, and it was most certainly not the time for feeling sorry for a boy who was, at worst, completely evil and repulsive, and at absolute best, soft and morally grey enough to hang about with people who definitely _were_ completely evil and repulsive.)

“Right then,” James said briskly, rubbing his hands together. “If I were the diary of a teenage terrorist which may or may not contain some mention of the evil plans of said teenage terrorist’s evil master, where would I be?”

“Well—” Sirius ran his hands over the polished surface of Regulus’s magnificent writing desk— “if I’m not mistaken, and if he hasn’t changed his hiding spots in the three years since I last snooped through his stuff, it should be—” He tapped the right edge of the desk, feeling the dull thuds of his fingers against the wood. He smiled. “Ah, here we are.”

“What?” James moved in to peer over Sirius’s shoulder. “Hollow?”

“Feel for yourself.”

James tapped the wood, then frowned. “Feels solid.”

“It’s supposed to.” Sirius smiled wider. “See, I already knew for certain that there’s a nook right there—” he paused to reverently run his finger along the smooth mahogany — “just big enough to hold a medium-sized journal. So the question was not whether or not there’s a hiding place…” He pressed a fingertip to the corner of the desk. A book-sized section of wood popped off and Sirius deftly caught it before pulling a worn, leather-bound journal out of the newly-revealed secret compartment. “…but whether or not there’s something hidden in it.”

A wide, lopsided grin crept onto James’s face.

“Wicked,” he breathed. “Now, we better run before… what are you doing?”

“Skimming,” answered Sirius, absently flicking through the pages.

“We need to leave, though, who knows how long until they come back.”

“James, this house is massive and we’re on the fourth floor. Plus, we’ve got a bloody invisibility cloak, in case you’ve somehow forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” muttered James. “I just think—”

“Think more quietly, then.” Sirius waved the diary emphatically. “Come on, I haven’t spoken a word to my brother in years and now I’ve got the chance to read his fucking diary! I can’t just hand it over to Dumbledore and the Order without reading a single word!”

James said nothing, just stared at the book with pursed lips.

“Besides…” Sirius wasn’t sure if this next bit was meant to stay in his head or not, but he figured it might help his case if he said it out loud. “Besides, he’s _my_ brother. Or at least… he was, once.” His voice came out softer than he expected. “He’s definitely not theirs. You know?”

Sirius was certain that James _didn_ _’t_ know, but James slowly nodded anyway.

“Okay. I’ll go stand guard — make sure no one sneaks up on us.” He paused, then turned to Sirius. “You’ll be alright?”

Sirius nodded firmly, trying for properly convincing stoicism. “Of course.”

James nodded again, then stepped outside, leaving Sirius alone with what appeared to be the heart and soul of someone he never thought even had a heart or soul. He started reading.

_12 January, 1979_

_Today was, in every sense of the word, wholly mediocre. I completed the assigned Charms essay three days early and spent the rest of the day in the library. It was not particularly stimulating, unfortunately. I did, however, find a fairly interesting book debating the subject of_ _…_

Boring — Sirius skipped ahead a few pages.

_23 January, 1979_

_Today_ _’s Potions lesson was all about Amortentia. I was certain I had brewed mine successfully — how could I have not? — but when we were asked to check the scents, I could not smell a thing. I then thought for sure that I had disgraced myself in the realm of Potions, but Professor Slughorn said that HE could smell it just fine, and that I had done perfectly, and to ‘stop looking like you’re being sent to Azkaban, Regulus, you did very well!’_

_(For the record, I did not look like I thought I was being sent to Azkaban. I was merely a bit worried because I do not want reports getting back to Mother about how I failed such an important potion! What would she say??) _

_Anyway, this was a comfort because it meant that I had not, in fact, disgraced myself in the realm of Potions, but it still did nothing to explain why I could not smell the Amortentia myself. Professor Slughorn suggested that I may have the beginnings of a cold, and I agreed, even though I am the very picture of perfect health at the moment. It was all very curious, and truly does make one wonder_ _…_

Sirius had no idea what to make of Regulus’s odorless Amortentia problem either, but it really wasn’t a priority for him at the moment. Since the beginning of the diary seemed to be mostly school-related, he decided to skip to the end of Regulus’s term.

_1 July, 1979_

_I find myself rapidly nearing the end of my schoolboy days. I have already passed the age of adulthood, by which I was supposed to be ready to make a life for myself, and yet I feel that I could not be farther from ready for such an endeavor. The last seven years of my life — and, come to think of it, the years preceding that, as well — have been nothing but going through the motions. Classes, assignments, exams. Social obligations. Dinner parties — wine, dine, master the polite smile. When will it end?_

_Pardon me for saying so — I would never admit this anywhere aside from private writings — but I do not know if I truly want this. Ah, well, I suppose it doesn_ _’t really matter what I want… not when I’m the heir. Not when so much is at stake, when so much is riding on me, least of all my own ego. Could I possibly be content without this? Could I possibly be content_ _with_ _this? It has gotten hard to tell_ _…_

Sirius feels his heart filling, spilling, with a churning cocktail of mixed emotions. Regulus didn’t necessarily want the pressures of being the heir… but he didn’t refuse it, he didn’t go with Sirius… and he still put his desires aside to fuel the Black family’s collective pride. That was his final decision. Sirius wasn’t sure which was more maddening — the preconceived notion that Regulus was their little puppet inside and out, or the revelation that Regulus actually had his own thoughts and feelings and desires that actively contradicted the strict rules he was expected to adhere to, but he ultimately decided to continue playing the good son despite his differing personal wants.

Sirius skipped the next couple of entries — they were just more existential dread based around the idea of graduating — and stopped cold on the one dated 21 July. Only written about a month ago.

_21 July, 1979_

_Kreacher has given me terrible news that worries me greatly. I had volunteered him for a special project; the Dark Lord —_

(Sirius paused to seethe quietly at his little brother’s casual use of the Death Eaters’ name for Voldemort.)

_— the Dark Lord had requested an elf for reasons unknown to I or any of my comrades._

_‘An honor,’ I told poor Kreacher. ‘We should be proud that the Dark Lord has chosen us to aid him in his project.’_

_Kreacher, trusting me implicitly, went along with it, for what reason have I given him to doubt me? Until now, at least. I sent him on his way and told him to return to me when he was finished. And return he did — wet, shivering, and clearly very ill. He told me horrible stories of how the Dark Lord had forced him to test the defenses for_ _… something. I was told specifics, but I cannot bear to write them here._

_The Dark Lord laughed at Kreacher_ _’s pain and — excuse my sloppy writing; this makes me tremble with anger just to think about it — he left Kreacher to die there. Kreacher was able to escape only because the Dark Lord underestimated the power of a house elf — a critical error. It was by thoughtless force of habit that I happened to give Kreacher the specific order to return to me after completing the Dark Lord’s tasks: a habit that I now know saved his life. If I had not bothered with specifics as Mother always taught me to do when dealing with house elves… it greatly distresses me to even think of what may have become of poor, innocent Kreacher._

_I feel that of all the ruinous decisions I have made in my miserable time here, this is by far the worst. I have not hurt myself now, I have hurt my closest ally, which, ironically, hurts much more than hurting myself._

_To retreat from feelings to fact, it is obvious that the Dark Lord is using all of these things as defenses for something big. Kreacher said that he hid a locket within the potion, so it would seem that the locket is the object of importance. I cannot say for sure what makes that locket special, but I have an awful, creeping suspicion, and, well_ _… although I was never one to put my faith in any God or gods, let us all pray that I am wrong._

Filled with some sort of anxiety-riddled morbid curiosity, Sirius turned the page, only to find that the next entry was only a few sentences long.

_18 August, 1979_

_The day is hot, but my time runs cold. I am afraid this is where we part ways; I do not see how I could possibly return to write here once more. It_ _’s funny, really. I always thought I’d carry on the legacy of my fathers, but perhaps now I can make my own legacy. It is, perhaps, a tragedy that my only truly free choice should be my last, but I suppose it’s poetic in some way._

_They forced me to live by their ways. Now, at least, I can die by mine._

_Goodbye._

_With great affection,_

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

_(R.A.B.)_

Sirius stared at the words until the ink stained his retinas and he could no longer make sense of the markings. He furiously flipped through the remaining pages in the book — all blank.

“Holy—” he breathed, voice crescendoing into a ragged, desperate wail. “Holy fucking MERLIN ALMIGHTY.”

James immediately came barreling through the door as if summoned.

“WHAT?” he yelled, seemingly in a blind panic. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

Wordlessly, Sirius shoved the diary at him and immediately pulled out a cigarette.

James stared at him, clearly still confused. “You can’t smoke in here!”

“Just read it,” Sirius whispered hoarsely, already lighting up. He watched James’s eyes move left to right, left to right, growing wider as he came to the end of the short entry.

“Holy fucking Merlin almighty,” James echoed, handing the book back to Sirius.

“I know.”

“That date’s from today, though. He could still…”

James trailed off, but still Sirius heard the words loud and clear. _He could still be alive._

“Well, I guess there’s only one thing to do,” he said, trying to focus on the warm glow of hope in his chest rather than the tight knot of terror.

“What’s that?”

Sirius took a deep breath, feeling it rattle unsteadily in his chest.

“KREACHER!”

II.

“Sorry to interrupt your deathday, mate,” said Sirius, staving off the _minor_ heart attack that came from, you know, thinking his brother had gone on a bloody solo suicide mission. “But you and I need to have a bit of a chat.” He turned to Kreacher, who was staring at him, pure hatred plastered all over his ugly face. “And you — I order you to go back to the house and wait there until I call you.”

Kreacher made a face like he wanted nothing more than to physically rip Sirius limb from limb, but he did as he was told.

“You fucking _idiot,_ ” spat Regulus, eyes flashing angrily at Sirius over the stone basin that sat in the middle of the small island. “I — I always knew you were obnoxiously talented at sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, but I thought you’d be better than a bloody thirteen-year-old. You might as well be looking through the diaries of the girls in your year to try and find out who they fancy.”

He clearly meant it as a demeaning dig, but the irony was too great to ignore. Besides, irony was an excellent way of covering up emotional turmoil, which sounded pretty good to Sirius right about now.

“Funny you would bring that up,” he said sheepishly.

Regulus’s eyes went wide. “You didn’t,” he whispered, deathly quiet.

“I… did.”

Regulus let out a long, colorful stream of swearing in both English and French.

“How much?” he demanded.

“Mostly just the last two entries.”

“ _Mostly?_ _”_

“I mean, those were the only ones that really mattered.”

“To the _mission_ , you mean?” Regulus asked bitterly. “I suppose that’s what brought you back.”

Sirius felt an odd surge of annoyance at Regulus’s tone. “Right, because finding a goodbye note in my brother’s diary means absolutely nothing to me,” he snapped.

Regulus’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to fire back before apparently changing his mind.

“Whatever,” he muttered instead. “Listen, if you read the last two entries, you should understand how important this is. And why it’s imperative that I go through with this.”

“Go through with _what,_ exactly?”

Regulus stared at Sirius as if he had just asked what color the sky was. “You don’t know? I thought you read—”

“I did, but you weren’t exactly transparent about whatever the hell is going on.”

Regulus sighed. “Horcrux. He’s got a horcrux.”

“Thank you, that clears up exactly nothing.”

“To trim out the fat, it means that as long as it exists, he can’t die.”

Sirius froze. “ _What?!_ _”_

“I know.” Regulus pointed at the stone basin between them. “That’s where he’s hiding it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up.” Sirius pressed his palms downward in the universal ‘slow down’ gesture. “So let me get this straight: Voldemort’s got a free ticket back to the world of the living, he’s stored it in a slime-filled birdbath, and _you_ _’re_ here to destroy it?”

Regulus winced slightly at his master’s full name, but nodded anyway. “That is correct. Except it’s not ‘slime’, it’s a potion.”

“Same difference. But _why?_ Why are you doing this? _”_

Regulus tensed.

“I… don’t entirely know,” he admitted. “I… well, he hurt Kreacher, an innocent house elf. That — that’s _wrong_ , even I know that.”

“Hm.” Sirius crossed his arms. “Innocent isn’t _quite_ the word I’d use for that demonic scrotum, but I see what you’re saying.”

Regulus glared at him. “I don’t care what _you_ think about him, Sirius. Kreacher didn’t do anything to the D— to _Voldemort_ , and he left him for dead. And _laughed_.”

“Alright, alright.” Sirius held his hands up in surrender.

(He’d normally press more, but as it is, Regulus’s deliberate choice to use Voldemort’s name rather than the Death Eater moniker has shaken him up almost as much as the contempt with which it was said.)

Sirius took a breath to recenter himself. “So where’s the part where you martyr yourself to spite our parents, or whatever it is you’re doing?”

Sirius wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear exactly how his brother was planning on nobly sacrificing himself, but if there was a chance of talking him out of it… well, Regulus clearly wasn’t under Voldemort’s creepy spell — at least, not at the moment. Sirius had failed to save Regulus three years ago, but this was a second chance. He _had_ to take it, and in order to do that, he had to know the full story.

“That would be the potion,” said Regulus. Then, as an afterthought: “…and the carefully-constructed death trap surrounding the horcrux.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Care to enlighten those of us who aren’t criminal masterminds as to the inner workings of the so-called death trap?”

“The potion is riddled with spells that make it so that the only way to get through to the horcrux is to remove the potion,” Regulus explained, “and the only way to remove the potion is to drink it.”

“And it’s a poison, right?”

“One can only assume.”

“Too straightforward,” said Sirius. “There’s got to be more.”

“Oh, there is,” said Regulus, gesturing towards the black waters surrounding them. “I suppose you never properly investigated the lake?”

Sirius snorted. “Right, because the very first thing I thought when I got here was ‘well, if that isn’t just about the dandiest lake I’ve ever seen! I think I shall study it extensively!’”

Regulus flushed slightly, but continued. “Inferi — reanimated corpses. I’d say they’re simply an extraneous security measure, but that’s not how he operates — everything is always connected.”

“Let me guess, the poison causes some sort of desperate need for water, so the would-be horcrux thief must drink from the lake, thus disturbing the Inferi and causing them to drag the thief to his watery grave.”

“That’s—” Regulus stopped short, blinking in surprise. “That’s… actually correct. How did you know?”

“Well, I’m not an _idiot,_ _”_ said Sirius, mildly offended. “In fact, my preferred term for my signature brand of dumbassery is ‘charmingly inane’.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. Look, if you’re going to be here, you have to help me.”

Here it came. “Oh?”

“The potion part of the trap is designed to require two people: one to drink the potion — that would be me — and one to…” Regulus closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he were having trouble getting the information off his tongue. “One to… force the potion down the first person’s throat once they get too weak to, ah… to drink by themselves.”

Sirius’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He knew, of course, that whatever Regulus had in mind, it would probably be awful. But apparently he expected Sirius to not only stand by and watch the only vaguely-tolerable member of his blood family torture himself to death, but to actually step in and take over the role of torturer when the little shit ran out of juice.

Times when Sirius Black found himself at a loss for words were, to the chagrin of those around him, few and far between. This was definitely one of those times.

“You’re insane,” he said after a shocked pause. “I’ve called a lot of people insane, but right now, you are not even on the same _planet_ as them.”

“It must be done,” protested Regulus. “Now, I can’t say I’m the biggest fan of this idea either, but—”

“ _Not the biggest fan?!_ _”_ Sirius exploded. “Fuck, Reggie, this isn’t a bloody Quidditch play! This is, this is life or death — YOUR life or death!”

“Don’t try to talk me out of this, Sirius!” Regulus was breathing hard. “Once he finds out what I know — and he _will_ find out — it’s over. I’m already a dead man walking; at least this way I’ll be able to make a difference. Don’t try to talk me out of it, because whatever you can think of, I’ve already chosen to ignore it.”

The look in his eyes was wild, unhinged, with a touch of pleading. Sirius didn’t think he’d ever seen his brother look so… so _human_.

“But don’t you get it?!” Sirius yelled. “What makes you think he’s only got one?”

Regulus froze. “More than one horcrux? That’s — it’s never been done, it’s impossible…”

“It’s _Voldemort_ ,” said Sirius. “If it’s even remotely possible, we can be certain that he’s done it.”

“Multiple horcruxes, that’s—” Regulus scrubbed a hand over his face. “Merlin, he really has, hasn’t he.”

“I’m willing to bet on it.”

“Alright, fine. You win.” Regulus spread his arms in defeat. “What now?”

“Now?” said Sirius. “We finally get to have our chat.”

III.

They were an odd group: two mischief-loving blood traitors, a muggleborn, and a turncoat Death Eater with questionable loyalties, none of whom were older than twenty, all gathered in the Potters’ sitting room, which was a bizarre mishmash of both muggle and magical decor. The fact that they were calmly discussing the darkest of dark magic over tea was just par for the course at this point.

“Okay, okay,” said Lily. “Let’s see if I understand this: Voldemort’s split his soul into multiple parts and placed those parts in various objects.”

“That’s correct,” said Sirius.

“But we don’t know what those objects are.”

“Except for the locket, right?” James chimed in.

“Right,” said Lily. “And the only way to kill him is to first destroy all the horcruxes, which would make him mortal and vulnerable.”

“In theory,” said Regulus.

“Don’t we have anything better than theory?”

“No.” Regulus turned his unsettling gaze on her. “Horcruxes are extremely rare, dangerous, and forbidden, so there’s not a lot of information on them.”

Lily pursed her lips. “Could that possibly be because purposely fracturing your own soul so you can chip a piece off and store it in an object like it’s a bloody Tupperware container and you’re preserving the world’s most demonic leftovers is absolutely mental?”

“It would certainly seem so.” Regulus frowned. “What’s a Tupperware container?”

“Er, never mind,” said Lily.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” said James. He pointed at Regulus. “Where the hell are we going to keep _him?_ _”_

“While your concern for my well-being is nothing short of touching,” Regulus said sarcastically, “there’s no need for it. I’ve never given any of them any reason to suspect that I’m not still one of them. I’ll stay where I am, continue pretending—”

“You’re not doing that,” said Sirius sharply.

Regulus turned to him, eyes blazing. “And why not?”

“You said it yourself. You’re a dead man walking. It’s only a matter of time before our dear evil friends and relatives figure out that you’ve turned, and then…”

“Well, this definitely seems like a conversation that Lily and I have just been dropped in the middle of,” interjected James. “So let’s just get this out of the way quickly. Regulus, you’re not going back, end of story. Padfoot, are you able to keep Mr. Death Wish at your flat?”

Regulus frowned, but kept silent. Sirius smiled wanly.

“You know I have the nosiest neighbors in all of muggle London,” he said. “They already think I ‘practice witchcraft’ on the sole premise of me wearing earrings and leather jackets — I haven’t even actually done anything _remotely_ magical around them.” He chuckled. “Suddenly move in a brother they’ve never heard of, when said brother knows absolutely nothing about blending into muggle culture? They’d have a field day.”

“Good point,” said James, visibly deflating.

“He can stay here,” Lily said.

Everyone went dead quiet. Then James and Regulus, each looking both disgusted and horrified, locked eyes and shouted “NO!” with such perfect unity that it nearly made Lily laugh out loud.

“Are you kidding me?” Sirius asked incredulously. “They’d both go insane if neither one of them died first! You’d have enough murder plots to land at least one person in Azkaban!”

“So you’ve got a better idea?” Lily asked pointedly, and that shut him up.

“I’m sorry, boys,” she continued. “We haven’t got much of a choice.”

“I’ve got it!” James leapt to his feet. “We can get the rest of the Order involved! Surely one of them can—”

“Involve your Order and I’ll reconsider switching sides,” said Regulus coldly. “I don’t fancy being a glorified prisoner.”

“Oi,” warned Sirius. “Any talk of switching sides and you’re guaranteed to be a prisoner, no glory included.”

“He’s got a point, though,” mused Lily. “I’m not saying he’s right for threatening to switch back. That’s got to stop,” she added upon catching James’s dark look. “But he does have a point about involving the Order. We’re fighting a _war_. With a reputation like his, they’d have to be barmy to trust him.”

“ _We_ _’d_ have to be barmy to trust him,” muttered James. Then, louder: “Why do we trust him again?”

“I’m still here, you know,” Regulus sniffed. Everyone ignored him.

“Several reasons.” Sirius ticked each one off on his fingers as he went. “One, Regulus never displays emotion if he can help it, and he was certainly displaying emotion in the cave. Two, he’s barely spoken to me in years, and we’ve already had a full conversation, not counting this one. Three, the diary—”

“The diary could have been part of an elaborate plot,” James pointed out.

“How would he have known that we would try to read it?” countered Sirius.

“For the record, I would have burned it months ago if I knew this would happen,” mumbled Regulus. Once again, no one paid him any attention.

James threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know, _he_ _’s_ the evil genius here! Not me!”

“You didn’t read the diary, James, it was pretty damn personal. You’re saying he willingly delivered all that information right to us, and the payoff was moving from a situation where he was more or less perfectly safe to one where any of us could kill him at any given time?”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Regulus said dryly.

“No, I’m saying the payoff would be gaining our trust so he can report all of our moves directly to Voldemort,” argued James. “He’s a Death Eater, don’t they live and breathe for their beloved master?”

“ _Was._ He _was_ a Death Eater.”

“Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater.”

“I think there’s a fourth reason here that neither of you have considered,” said Regulus, finally getting through to the two Gryffindor men.

“Oh, do tell.” James crossed his arms. “What _ever_ could it be?”

“Simple.” Regulus turned to look him dead in the eye. “I do not like you. The only way that I could possibly bring myself to spend prolonged periods of time in your general vicinity is if the world was ending.” He spread his arms sarcastically. “And oh, would you look at that, _it is._ _”_

There was a silence in the room as everyone mulled this over. Then James sighed.

“Yeah. All right. Fine. He’s trustworthy enough, I guess. He can…” He paused, grimacing as if something was stuck in his throat. “He can… stay. Here.”

Lily put her hand on his knee and gave him a smile that she hoped conveyed pride at his strength of character and not weariness at this whole ridiculous situation. Sirius grinned.

“Glad to hear it, mate.”

“Right then.” James turned to his best friend. “Now that that’s all settled, what are _you_ doing?”

“Ah, an excellent question. I’m…” Sirius grinned, spreading his arms grandly. “…joining the Death Eaters!” 

Lily nearly launched a pillow across the room. Regulus choked rather violently on his tea.

“You’re WHAT?!” thundered James.

“Joining the Death Eaters,” Sirius supplied cheerfully.

“You’re—”

“Joining.”

“Joining the—”

“Death Eaters.”

“You’re joining the Death Eaters.”

“I am joining the Death Eaters.”

James just stared at him for a very long time, looking on the verge of… well, something. Lily wasn’t quite sure what that something was, but the current top contenders included tears, murder, and spontaneous combustion.

“Merlin, I think you’ve broken him,” said Regulus, having apparently recovered from his near-death experience.

“You’re a lunatic,” rasped James.

“But you love me,” Sirius replied cheekily.

“Irrelevant. When was the last time I told you you’re an idiot? Because I feel like I don’t do that nearly often enough for your level of idiocy.”

“I believe the term is ‘charmingly inane’,” said Regulus.

“What?”

“He’s not an idiot, he’s charmingly inane. Or so I’ve been told.”

Sirius, for some reason, was grinning ear to ear.

“Oh, Reggie!” he gushed. “You really _do_ care!”

James looked at Lily with a confused expression that she was sure mirrored her own. “I think this is another one of those times in which we find ourselves in the middle of a very strange conversation that requires a lot of context to understand, none of which we actually know.”

“Oh, for sure,” she agreed. “Probably best that we never know, though.”

“Most definitely.”

“Er, am I the only one wondering how Sirius is supposed to pull off posing as a Death Eater when the majority of them are either related to him or have personally gone head to head with him in battle?” asked Regulus.

It all happened within seconds: first Sirius got a devious grin on his face, then he turned to James, who looked pensive for a moment before slowly adopting an identical devious grin. Both started cackling and then they both turned in unison to stare at Regulus, who by now looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Am I… missing something?”

The Prongsfoot machine jointly cackled again, eerily in sync.

“Oh, it’s quite simple,” said Sirius.

“Embarrassingly so,” added James.

“Lose one Death Eater—”

“—gain another.”

“Or rather, gain him back again. Sort of.”

Lily was still not entirely sure what they were hinting at, but Regulus seemed to understand because his eyes grew huge.

“Oh no,” he protested. “No, no, no, _fuck_ no.”

“It’s the only way!” argued Sirius.

_“You are NOT polyjuicing into me!”_ Regulus hissed, red-faced. Lily clapped her hands to her mouth to keep from laughing.

“It’s the only logical option!” Sirius restated. “Besides, I’ll do a brilliant job. I’m a phenomenal actor.”

“His performance as one Mr. Argus Filch back in ‘74 was nothing short of breathtaking,” said James.

“This isn’t a stupid schoolboy prank,” Regulus reminded them. “This is _real_ life. With _real_ consequences. Big ones.”

“Lily?” James’s eyes were silently pleading for backup. Lily sighed.

“As terrible of an idea as this is,” she said slowly, “I think they’re right. This is our only option.

“But,” she continued, freezing the two men with a look, “Regulus is also right — this needs to be handled _very_ seriously.”

“Oh, come now, Lils.” Sirius smirked. “When am I ever not Sirius?”

He and James high-fived. Regulus buried his face in his hands, letting out a quiet noise that might have been a whimper, or maybe a heavily suppressed scream.

“If the fate of the world is riding on their shoulders,” he groaned, voice muffled, “we are well and truly fucked.”

IV.

The fact that they were using polyjuice potion should have delayed the plan by at least a month, therefore rendering it a Bad Plan. However, as luck would have it, the Potters just so happened to have enough blank reserves left over from a previous Order mission to last until they could make some more.

Not that this made it any less of a Bad Plan. It just meant that it was technically feasible.

Then came the time for the grand reveal. Away went Sirius, and in swaggered the most surreal sight of Regulus’s short, miserable life: a perfect duplicate of himself.

He knew, of course, that the doppelganger was actually Sirius. But that didn’t make it any less bloody _bizarre_ to see someone who looked exactly like him messing about with Potter and shooting finger wands at the mu— at _Lily_ and waggling his eyebrows like he was having some sort of facial seizure.

“Wow, everything looks so _big_ from down here!” Sirius exclaimed gleefully in Regulus’s voice. Because of _course_ the first thing out of his mouth had to be a height joke.

“Ah, sorry about the height joke,” Sirius snickered as if reading Regulus’s mind. “I may have overstepped just a _little._ Forgive me; I know you have a _short_ temper.”

Regulus fumed silently while Sirius and Potter laughed hysterically and tried for a high-five, which Sirius missed entirely because both of them misjudged the length of Sirius’s now-shorter arms.

So at least that was amusing.

“All right, you two,” said Lily, ever the voice of reason. “Bring it back in. Sirius, you’ve got somewhere to be in a couple of hours. Let’s see your Regulus impression.”

Sirius straightened his shoulders and adopted a rigid posture, raising his chin and peering disdainfully down his nose at each of them in turn.

“Alright, if I must,” he said in a frighteningly accurate imitation of Regulus’s accent and flat, restrained manner of speaking.

“Merlin’s dirty pants,” giggled James. “I think I just got chills.”

Sirius fixed him with a death stare.

_“Potter,”_ he snapped. “If we are to live together for more than a half hour, I require, nay, _demand_ that you get your head out of your arse and act like an adult.”

Potter absolutely roared with laughter and even Lily couldn’t hold in a snort.

“I do _not_ talk like that,” muttered Regulus indignantly.

“YOU!” barked Sirius, whirling around to face Regulus and thrusting a self-important finger into the air. “Who art thou, and why dost thou wear mine face?!”

“Tone it down,” said Regulus crossly. “I’m not a fourteenth-century poet.”

“Care for a duel, then?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Wise choice,” said Sirius, dropping the ridiculous persona. He felt his own bicep. “I’m honestly not sure I can even _lift_ a wand with these twigs you call arms.”

This, of course, set Potter off again, this time joined by Sirius and Lily, who, for her part, was making a _very_ valiant effort at not laughing, even if she was completely failing.

“If this is my cosmic payback for every terrible decision I’ve made thus far,” mused Regulus to no one in particular, “consider me thoroughly repentant and _please_ end my suffering.”

Unfortunately, it quickly became evident that the universe was most definitely _not_ looking favorably upon Regulus — not in the slightest.

First, he had to endure about seven more excruciating minutes of pure mockery from Sirius, the self-appointed resident funnyman. Then, when Sirius rolled up his left sleeve to check the Dark Mark, Regulus had to bear the uncomfortable side-glances at his own, covered forearm. And _then —_

“So,” said Potter, gliding into the guest room where Regulus was temporarily staying as if he were on wheels. “How’s it going?”

Regulus stared at him.

“…fine,” he replied warily.

“Cool, cool,” said Potter absently. Then he glanced surreptitiously out into the hall.

“Perfect, she’s not looking,” he said, perking up. “I was just about sick of being civil.”

Regulus felt a flash of admiration for the strong character of Potter’s mother, since her only son apparently tired of decent manners after approximately twelve seconds.

“Right then.” Potter cleared his throat. “I’ll just get right to it, then, save us both some grief.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow — it was a bit late for that, at least on his part.

“You can’t use magic here,” Potter stated bluntly.

Regulus choked on air. He had been expecting a declaration of mistrust, a cliche Gryffindor ‘everyone else seems to trust you, but I don't, and if you hurt my friends, I’ll end you’ speech, maybe a few more thinly veiled threats thrown in the mix just for the hell of it. But not… _this._

“But _why?!_ _”_ asked Regulus in a tone that was very adult and mature and sounded absolutely nothing at all like a petulant child.

“Well, this leans more towards the theory side of things than the factual.” Potter shrugged nonchalantly. “But hey, we’re trying not to get you killed, so better safe than sorry, right?”

Regulus frowned. “I… suppose.”

“What exactly is the Dark Mark used for?”

“Communication with the Da— with Voldemort.”

“So it’s a direct magical link to him?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s always open? And it allows him to monitor you from afar?”

Regulus was starting to see where this was going, and he definitely didn’t like it. “Yes and yes.”

“It’s on your left arm, correct?”

Regulus felt his heart sag lower and lower, like a deflated balloon. “Correct.”

“And which arm is your wand arm?”

_Sigh._

“…also left.”

“Hey, no need to get your robes in a bunch,” admonished Potter. “I’m just saying, _maaaayyybe_ since the path of magical energy as it flows through your body to your wand has to pass directly through the spot with the open magical link to the most dangerous dark wizard alive, we should _maybe_ hold off on casting any spells until we can get our spy out of the lion’s den so that we can, oh, I dunno, avoid sending said most dangerous dark wizard alive a nice little note saying ‘yoo-hoo, we’re trying to trick you!’”

Regulus rubbed his temples. “I cannot find anything logically unsound in that theory and I hate you for it.”

Potter grinned. “Thanks, and the feeling is mutual!”

He clapped Regulus on the shoulder, nearly sending Regulus rocketing out of his own skin, before exiting the room, presumably to return to whatever dark, roach-infested hole he came from.

Regulus sighed again. This was going to be a nightmare.

V.

James, in all his 19 years of various forms of troublemaking and marauding, was no stranger to odd situations. But now, finding himself leaning against his kitchen wall as his wife patiently explained how a muggle toaster worked to his best mate’s semi-evil kid brother, he wondered how any of his other escapades could possibly be considered on the same level in terms of surreality. 

Regulus, for his part, was not currently being the condescending, elitist little shit that James expected. In fact, he seemed to be at least mildly impressed by the concept of a little countertop machine that evenly cooked bread in a matter of minutes without even using a single spell, although it was hard to tell with him. 

While Lily, as the resident muggle device expert, gave a short Muggle Kitchen 101 lecture, James watched Regulus regard each device with his unnerving, probing stare — Merlin, even the way this kid _looked_ at things was creepy and borderline evil. Even more so knowing his family history. Knowing how smart he was; how dangerous. He was barely eighteen and he still looked like he was devising some nefarious way of gruesomely dismembering a person if he so much laid eyes on them (even though James knew damn well he’d never get his hands dirty like that).

Having an ex-Death Eater living in his home, even temporarily, was not an ideal situation. The fact that Regulus had defected was, to James, irrelevant; he was still a Black. He was still one of _them —_ one of those who had hurt Sirius. One of the bad guys.

So it was even more satisfying — and, more importantly, bloody hilarious — when it quickly became evident that Regulus Black had never done a chore in his life.

“Now, I know this isn’t the, erm—” Lily paused, searching for the right words — “most _favorable_ arrangement. For any of us.”

James held back a snicker — _major_ understatement.

They were gathered in the Potters’ sitting room: Lily in her favorite plush chair, James perched on her armrest, and Regulus looking very out of place leaning against the cream-colored doorframe.

“But,” continued Lily, “I believe that it can all work out in the end if we _work together._ ” She punctuated the last two words with a pointed stare at James.

“Why are you looking at me?” asked James, mildly offended that she would single him out like that. “I am nothing if not the picture of civility.”

Across the room, Regulus masked his snort with a polite cough. James glared at him. 

Lily ignored them both. “Anyway, it would be best for all of us if we evenly divided the labor.”

James shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“What labor?” Regulus asked suspiciously.

James and Lily both turned to stare at him.

“The… household chores…?” said James.

Regulus frowned for a second. Then his eyebrows shot up. “Oh… _oh._ You don’t have a house elf.”

James glanced sarcastically at their modest surroundings. The house was rather nice, but it wasn’t a mansion by any stretch of the imagination.

“An astute observation,” he monotoned.

“James,” warned Lily.

“It was a _compliment!_ ”

Lily ignored James, turning to Regulus. “Cooking. Cleaning up. Things like that. But you’ll have to do it the muggle way — can’t risk Voldemort finding out you’re here…” She trailed off, seemingly coming to a realization. “…and you have no idea how to do any of that, do you?”

Slowly, Regulus shook his head. Lily shared a wince with James.

“Well… alright, then!” she said in an overly cheery tone. “Well, I suppose we’d better get to it, hm?”

And that was how James ended up scowling at an ex-Death Eater from across the kitchen while his wife gave the little bastard step-by-step instructions on how to operate a toaster.

Good times, indeed.

Epilogue

_ Introduction _

_Dear Diary,_

_Hello! My name is James Potter. I am currently nineteen years old, but on the inside, a child gleefully prances about._

_That was my poetic excuse for writing this thing. You see, it_ _’s not actually a diary. It’s more of an essay. I call it ‘Misadventures In The Kitchen: The Domestic Failures of One Regulus Black’. Catchy title, huh? Yeah, I thought so too._

_Here_ _’s the sitch: while my best mate Sirius is off doing important, world-saving things, I, along with my beautiful wife Lily, am forced to babysit Sirius’s evil brother, Regulus Black (yes, the one from the title!)_

_Unfortunately for Regulus (but hilariously for me), the poor boy has been forbidden from magic and has no idea how to do muggle chores. In this journal, I will keep a running list of every time Regulus has a misadventure in the kitchen and/or a domestic failure. Stay tuned!_

_ Item #1: the toaster mishap _

_Lily gave Regulus an excellent rundown on how to operate a muggle toaster. Unfortunately, she made the mistake of forgetting to explain the whole situation, I.E. how ectralizzety works. _

_So I was just minding my own business in the sitting room when suddenly, from the kitchen, I heard a slight commotion. I got up to investigate and who should I find but our intrepid hero standing at the counter, clearly struggling with the nefarious toaster._

_“What seems to be the trouble here?” I asked._

_“I do not understand,” he replied, clearly frustrated. “This inferior device is supposed to_ _ cook _ _the bread, is it not? Why is it not working?_ _”_

_He was pressing down on the lever, but nothing was happening — a most curious conundrum indeed._

_I moved a bit closer to peer over his shoulder. He kept futilely pressing that damned lever as if to show me exactly how much it wasn_ _’t working._

_I looked at the toaster. Looked at him. Then back to the toaster. And then I plugged the toaster in._

_“It’s okay,” I whispered soothingly. “It happens to the best of us.” Then I left._

_Furious French swearing from the kitchen. I don_ _’t speak French, but I could tell he was letting loose some real good ones._

_That was a good day._

_ Item # 2: cereal woes _

_Now, this one doesn_ _ ’t _ _happen to the best of us — it_ _’s Regulus-specific._

_For those of you who do not know, wizards have cereal. It_ _’s a bit different than muggle cereal (unless muggle cereal turns your eyes cotton candy pink or makes you float, which, last I checked, it does not), but it’s the same basic idea: sweet, crunchy wheat product + milk = quick breakfast. Lily and I happen to have both kinds._

_Regulus, however, is no ordinary wizard. Not by a long shot. He is a posh wizard, the Sacred Twenty-Eight type — you know, the sort who probably grew up having at least three courses in every single meal._

_At first, nothing seemed amiss. It was only later, after he remarked about how disgusting and odd this cereal was, that I became suspicious. I mean, Regulus is a definite snob, but surely even he wouldn_ _’t badmouth cereal, the most casually lovely of breakfast foods._

_Well, dear readers, after some coaxing, I found out the truth._

_“What exactly do you dislike about cereal?” I asked._

_He wrinkled his nose._ _“It’s soggy and tasteless and bland. I can’t say that I’ve ever eaten mud, nor have I had any desire to do so, but I feel that this must be what it’s like.”_

_“Wow,” I said. “That’s pretty harsh criticism.”_

_“It’s a pretty harsh disgust.”_

_“Do you, ah—” I paused tactfully. “Would you mind walking me through your cereal-making process?”_

_He looked at me strangely._ _“I make it just the same as you.”_

_“Just humor me,” I insisted._

_“Very well, then,” he said. “I put the cereal in the bowl.”_

_“Uh-huh.”_

_“I got the spoon ready.”_

_“That’s correct.”_

_“Then I grabbed the water from the cooling machine.”_

_“Okay— wait, what?!”_

_He frowned._ _“Was I supposed to use tap water?”_

_I had to go lay down for a while before I was ready to come back out and tell this eighteen-year-old man that cereal is actually made with milk_, _not water._

_ Item #3: in which our hero nearly burns the house down _

_Now, to his credit (and despite his multitudes of muttered complaints), Regulus actually figured chores out pretty quickly. Well — most of them, that is._

_The whole_ _“using muggle devices” thing was a pretty steep learning curve, and this story is no exception. See, Lily does a magnificent job explaining how muggle devices work. However, being a muggleborn, she often forgets that certain things just aren’t a given for purebloods, especially ones who have actively avoided any muggle influence for their entire lives. This, along with Regulus’s borderline malicious literalism, can be a disastrous combination._

_One such disaster happened just today, when Lily decided that Regulus had progressed far enough in his training to handle the ironing._

_We have a muggle iron, mostly because Lily finds the repetitive motions relaxing and I find the hissing sound the little steam machine makes when it touches the clothes an endless source of entertainment. I guess Lily must have decided that Regulus was too tense, because she gave him the stress-relieving task of flattening our fabrics._

_She did a wonderful job of teaching a quick iron crash course: where we keep the ironing board, how to set it up, what all the little dials and doohickeys mean, and, most importantly, that, like the toaster, you must plug it in for it to work! _

_Now, Regulus had been having a fairly good streak these last few days, and that was where dear Lily made her fatal mistakes:_

  1. _She neglected to actually tell him how the action of ironing was to be carried out, and_
  2. _We both left him unsupervised!!_



_And that is how I ended up running out of the toilet midway through a shower after hearing a lot of yelling in the kitchen. As it turned out, Regulus had not quite gotten used to the idea of tasks requiring work. That_ _’s the fundamental difference between wizard chores and muggle chores — wizards have a mentality of ‘do one thing and your desired outcome just sort of happens’, because that’s how spells operate. Muggle stuff, on the other hand, generally requires a lot of time and repetitive motion._

_And that_ _’s why Regulus Black, Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, had folded all the clothes neatly, turned the iron on, placed it ever-so-gently atop the stack of clothing, and walked away, thus almost setting our entire kitchen on fire._

_Applause, ladies and gentlemen._

_ Author _ _ ’s note _

_Well, folks, looks like things are evening out now. There were a few minor snags, but none quite so egregious (or hilarious) as to warrant space in this book._

_Who knows? There may yet be another snafu, if you will (or, if you won_ _’t, the terms ‘quandary’, ‘pickle’, ‘situation’, or ‘dilemma’ should suffice), but I don’t really anticipate one, so for now, I shall bid all of you lovely people adieu._

_Until next time,_

_James Potter_

* * *

the end.

**Author's Note:**

> this story, as it's designed to fulfill the original prompt, stands alone, but i'm considering writing a sequel soon, so stay tuned!
> 
> this fic is named for the straylight run song of the same name, because i feel that mistakes are a fairly prominent undertone.
> 
> also that's one of the songs that i was listening to as i was writing it and i am very unoriginal


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